


Bath Time

by etoile_etiolee



Series: Therapy [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bath Sex, Dirty Talk, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, assplay, disable Jensen, vulnerable Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoile_etiolee/pseuds/etoile_etiolee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen hasn't forgotten the hot sex therapist who visited him. He might even think about him a little too much for it to be healthy. One week later, he ask the service  from an orderly of the Rehabilitation Center because his roomate leaves for a few days and Jensen needs help in the evening. As it turns out, Jared Padalecki is the only employee available. Jensen is more than okay with this. It doesn't take long before his bath turns into something else entirely than helping him in and wash his hair. Apparently, Jared sees something in Jensen, something more than a too thin guy constantly high on meds with crooked legs dealing constantly with pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to candygramme for the great beta work.  
> Disclaimer: none of this is true. I make no profits out of it. This story is my intellectual property.
> 
> Arms crouches, mentionned in the story are those crouches with braces that settled around the arm for a better support.
> 
> Part II of the Therapy series

Sometimes Tim has to leave for a few days. It doesn’t happen often –Tim is, principally, a theater actor, and he works in New York. Once in a while, though, he’ll get an offer for a small role in a series or even a movie. 

Jensen doesn’t like it. He would never express that out loud, of course. He knows too well how much Tim sacrificed when he decided to move in with him. . It still means Jensen will have to ask for the home service offered by the Rehabilitation Center, because he needs help. It’s better now. He’ll just have someone with him in the evening to help with his bath and to place his legs in their braces for the night. Not too long ago, he would have had to stay at the center during Tim’s absence, and gosh, did it put him in an acute anxiety state every time. Being back in a room at the center reminds him way too much of the difficult weeks spent there, working his ass off, with the intensive therapy sessions every day, let it be physical, occupational or psychological. Jensen has great memories of all the people he met there, of those who worked with him so hard, celebrating each small victory as if it was the greatest achievement on earth, like the multidisciplinary team was his own personal fan club. But damn if the bad memories aren’t as numerous, or if anything, more. 

Luckily, Jensen is doing well enough by now to be mostly independent, and after months of being taken care of in the most intimate way by nurses, orderlies, his mother –Tim, of course- his dignity has left the building –or well, it has accepted certain things it would never have before. A couple of hours of help for his bath is a lesser evil.

As usual, when Tim lands a small role in a TV show in Los Angeles and learns he’ll be gone for four days, Jensen calls the center to schedule the help he’ll need. It’s a close call, since it’s better to make the demand at least two weeks in advance, and Tim found out he’d landed the role three days before he has to fly to L.A. The receptionist tells Jensen she’ll call him back, but she doesn’t know if she'll be able to find someone. Jensen spends an hour trying to control an anxiety attack. He has them often since the accident and is learning to live with them, since it doesn’t look like they’re going to go away. Jensen doesn’t understand, or accept, when his therapist suggests he might be suffering from PTSD. Jensen isn’t a soldier, hasn’t fought in Afghanistan, witnessing the most unnamable atrocities. He was the victim of an accident. Somehow, it feels like he doesn’t deserve to suffer from PTSD. He just has… trouble dealing with the aftermath of being rolled over by a car.

Luckily, when the receptionist calls him back, she says she found someone. Jensen feels immediately better. He tells Tim not to worry and begins to prepare himself mentally to be alone. He never feels safe when he’s alone –Tim running errands or playing late at the theater doesn’t count -Jensen knows he’s not far away. It’s a psychological thing.

That evening, Tim is out shopping for stuff he’ll need for his travels, and Jensen dozes in front of the TV, trying to ignore the twitching in his left leg. His phone rings around eight o’clock. He answers, trying to concentrate. When he’s on a high morphine dosage he gets a little slurry.

“Jensen Ackles? It’s Jared Padalecki.”

“Who?” Jensen asks before his mind clears up all of sudden. He feels the blush creeping up his face so violently it’s like a slap in the face. Which doesn’t prevent Jensen’s dick from starting to swell at the memory of their encounter a week ago. Jensen tries to swallow, but his mouth has gone dry, and he lets out what can only be describe as a squeak.

“Are you okay?” Jared’s voice is deep and soft. 

“Yuh-yeah. I… what…”

“Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but you’ve requested a home help, and I was asked to take the job. There aren’t a lot of people available at the beginning of January like this and… Well, if this is too awkward for you, I’ll try to find another employee. A couple of them owe me a favor and-”

“Well,” Jensen tries to think. “Are you uncomfortable with this?”

“No,” Jared answers immediately. “It’s my job. Plus, you’re a nice guy and a great cuddler.”

Jensen burst out laughing so suddenly he chokes on it, enough for Jared to ask him if he’s okay. Again.

“Yeah. . Listen, Jared, you’ve seen me… well, you’ve seen all of me in a very intimate way, so no, I have no problems with it.”

There is a sigh at the other end of the line, and maybe Jensen is just imagining it, but it sounds like a relieved sight. There is no question that he hasn’t stopped thinking about Jared ever since he got his “sex therapy” session. Even dreamed about him. He knows Jared is not employed to get him off this time, and maybe he should say no and ask for someone else, maybe this is all incredibly fucked up.

But hey, Jensen’s life is so empty and boring these days, a little bit of fucked up might do him some good.

::: ::: 

“You’re going to be alright?” Tim asks for the tenth time.

Jensen tries not to be irritated. Tim doesn’t act that way to mess with him, after all. He’s just become overly protective since the accident. 

“Yes. You bought two weeks’ worth of groceries.”

“Well, better safe than sorry.”

Tim adjusts his scarf in the hallway mirror, then makes a face. “I am a dangerous –but distinguished- serial killer,” he growls.

“You got it. Spot on,” Jensen laughs.

“Nah, that script is ridiculous but hey, money!” Tim grimaces a smile at Jensen through the mirror. “Plus, LA when we’re freezing our asses here. That’s my main motivation.”

Timothy turns on his heels in a dramatic fashion, and crouches in front of Jensen. He looks serious all of sudden.

“You are going to be alright, Jensen?”

“Yes,” Jensen answers as seriously. “You can go play the distinguished serial killer.”

Tim grunts and stands up. He’s gone less than a minute later.

It’s still early, eight o’clock in the morning. Jensen spends an hour rolling around the apartment, making sure everything is tidy, like it’s useful. Tim had made sure of that too, before leaving. Jensen wonders what exactly he’s hoping for. It’s not a date, it’s not even sexual therapy. It’s Jared Padalecki helping him into the bath and putting him to bed. 

“You’re an idiot,” Jensen mutters to himself. He stays in front of the large window of the living room for a long time, looking at the snow falling –there isn’t much, a lost snowflake here and there, tumbling in the draft created by the proximity of the buildings.

And for the first time in a long time, he misses home.

::: :::

Jared rings the doorbell at seven o’clock, not one minute early or late. Jensen rings him in, using his nose, and thanking the universe that no one sees him do that. He’s walking with his arm crutches and knows damn well he would fall face first on the floor if he lost his grip on either one of them. 

He’s not showing off. He needs to use the arms crutches and walk with them at least half an hour a day, and given that he’s always scared of falling, he thought it would be a good idea to do his exercises just before Jared’s arrival, just in case. And to be honest, if he’d want to seduce the guy, this wouldn’t be the best way. Despite the muscle relaxant he’s just taken, the pain is almost unbearable, his face is red and damp with sweat -hell, he smells like sweat, and the only way he can breathe is by taking very careful, very small intake of air.

“It’s opened,” he manages to say in what he hopes is a cheerful yet calm and composed –maybe sexy?- voice.

Jensen walks back a step to let Jared in. He’s equipped with a couple of bags this time, which makes Jensen blush again. Then he sees Jared, with his crazy-sexy floppy hair and his… giantness… and he thinks the rush of blood to his face will have him fall down, crutches or not.

“Hey you okay?” Jared asks, dropping his bags and taking a step forward.

He grabs one of Jensen’s arms, firm and secure. Jensen shakes his head, tries to free himself from the dizziness.

How pathetic is that, to be close to fainting just because you see a nice-looking guy (who admittedly gave you the only good orgasm in six months, but still).

“Yes, I’m fine,” he admits, finally finding his voice back. “Just… can you help me back to my chair?”

“Of course.”

::: :::

Jared is impressed by the bathroom, and the installation that allows Jensen to sit on a bench and take a shower without too much difficulties. “It must have cost a fortune, most people can’t afford that kind of equipment,” Jared says. Then he adds, looking contrite. “Well, I… It’s not my business anyway, you-“

“A gift from good old dad. He paid for every adaptation in the apartment,” Jensen explains, rolling his chair to the chest of drawers to grab the towels. “He’s happy to pay to keep me away,” he adds without thinking, forgetting for a moment it’s not Tim next to him.

Jared clears his throat.

“Fuck, sorry. I don’t always control my damn mouth,” Jensen replies immediately.

If there is one moment, one place, where he doesn’t want his father in his thoughts, it’s right now.

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Jared replies, winking at him, and Jensen feels himself blushing violently again. He lowers his head to try and control the damages.

“I’m sorry, that was out of place,” Jared says, kneeling to be at Jensen’s level –even then, his head hovers over Jensen’s.

“No, it was actually kind of funny.”

“Okay then. Well, let’s get to it. I read your file, and you use the bath chair and the shower, is that correct?”

“Yep,” Jensen rolls himself closer to the bath. “You can actually open the bath with that door, and it’s only a question of transfer to get me on the chair. I just need a little help after that.”

Jared walks on his knees and leans over the bath. Jensen tries very hard not to stare that the muscles shifting on his muscular back. Damn, did he have to wear a t-shirt so tight?

“That’s a fantastic bath. Don’t you ever use it instead of the shower? It has all those water jets that can really work wonders on your legs muscles.

“Don’t tempt me,” Jensen sighs. “It’s ridiculous, I know but I’m huh…” He pauses, wondering how he can tell the story without sounding like a wuss. “Once, back when I was hospitalized at the Center, they used that kind of hammock thing to give me a bath and it gave way and I slid and my legs I… Fuck, I couldn’t use them to get back into position, and I thought I was gonna drown in a freaking bath it’s…” Jensen laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head, as to dismiss the incident, as if he didn't have nightmares for days after, waking up in a panic trying to swallow big gulps of air.

“Anyone would be scared to try it again,” Jared tells him, staring straight into Jensen’s eyes with his fox-like, color-changing ones. 

I never said I was scared, Jensen almost protests, but he nods instead. It’s pretty obvious.  
“But huh, what if…”

Jared stops and drags a long strand of hair behind his ear. “What if…. Look I wouldn’t propose it normally, but since we connected already on a pretty intimate level. What if I were to get in with you? I mean this bath is huge, and you could lay down between my legs, your chest against mine. It would do wonders for your legs, and you could really relax, use all those water jets.”

Jensen’s mouth drops open, and he thinks he might just have had a small stroke given all the emotions that have suddenly popped through his mind: the panic of drowning is soon buried under the desire blooming in his belly like a flower, and the confusion of where this… professional relationship is going.

Gosh, resting in warm water between Jared’s muscular thighs. Being cradled by his large, capable hands.

The only thing Jensen doesn’t think about for ten good seconds –ten seconds is as long as a year when you stare at someone with your mouth open, and your dick starting to tent your sweatpants- is the actual benefit it could do to him, health wise.

“I over stepped, I’m sorry,” Jared finally –finally!- says, killing the most awkward silence in the history of the world.

Except he doesn’t really seems sorry. He’s still staring at Jensen frankly. His eyes are blue and grey and bright under the neon light of the bathroom. 

“You’re not,” Jensen replies, trying to sounds as confident as Jared does. If his voice shakes a little it’s not his fault. 

“Do I start the water, then?” Jared asks with a voice so low it rasps a little. It’s sexy as hell.

Jensen nods. 

Jared seems to be all business, all of sudden. He closes the door, turns on the heater, starts filling the bath, taking his time to adjust the temperature. Then, he undresses, still silent, until he’s down to his boxers, those Saxx underwear that are supposed to offer good support for big guys. 

Big everywhere, Jensen thinks, and he keeps staring. The boxers are red and tight, and Jared’s cock is snuggled right in the front, tenting the fabric a little. Jensen regrets not having taken the time to really memorize every centimeter of skin, every vein, and every tint from pink to angry red when he had the occasion last week. He was so needy, so far gone the whole thing is kind of a hot blur in his mind. 

Jared puts his folded clothes in a neat pile next to the sink and goes to shut off the water faucet, bending so nicely just in front of Jensen. 

Geez. Jensen is sweating. Not only that –he’s dripping, his hair wet, a drop sliding slowly on his nose.

He’s still sitting in his chair, completely dressed. It hasn’t even occurred to him that he could’ve moved during his therapist’s strip-tease.

“I’m hot,” he murmurs stupidly, then takes off his t-shirt. Better, although he can’t help but feel a little ashamed of his too thin chest: he’s developed some muscle since he’s started using a wheelchair and doing physical therapy, but since he can’t put on weight despite his efforts (his doc says he needs to gain ten pounds to be considered healthy) the muscles are thin and knotty, the way they used to be when he was a teenager, before his shoulders had started to widen. His skin is white, he doesn’t have chest hair and the happy trail starting from his navel and going down is too pale and scarce to be noticed. 

He feels diminished and small, more like a physical extension of his wheelchair than the man he once was. It’s not desire or nervousness that heats his face up this time but shame, and embarrassment. 

Jensen is twenty-six years old, damn it, and he’s as excited as the scrawny teenager he must look for having someone who was paid to get him off strip down to his underwear to give him a bath. Because Jensen can’t wash himself properly.

What does he think is going to happen anyway? 

“Fuck,” Jared murmurs.

There it goes, Jensen thinks. He-man finally realizes what he’s doing doesn’t make a lick of sense.

But Jared smiles and takes a step forward. “I… I kind of want to be your sex therapist again. Like. Real bad.”

Jensen doesn’t think anymore, then -he’s not going to look at a gift horse in the mouth. Plus, he’s paying for this. For his own… physical slash sexual therapy, in the shape of a hot-as-hell guy. And let’s admit it, his life sucks. He deserves this. 

“I kind of want you to be, too,” he says boldly, licking his lips on purpose. Jensen doesn’t know how he can look sexy to someone right now, but at least he still knows how to use his lips. “Maybe we can mix both therapies? I can pay.”

“Oh hell, don’t speak to me about payment. I feel like a prostitute,” Jared exclaims, and for a moment Jensen thinks he’s ruined everything –and damn it, his dick will never forgive him- but then Jared burst out laughing nervously. “I’m not doing this because I need money.”

“Okay, yeah, let’s care and share later, get me in the bath,” Jensen says quickly. He’s cold, he’s horny, and he doesn’t want the miracle that’s about to happen to have second thoughts.

::: :::

When he finally lies back, settled between Jared’s thighs, Jensen has never been less horny. He’s naked, and cold and shaking from the pain. It’s one thing to tell the guy who’s about to carry you bridal style to the bath that yes, you trust him. It’s another one entirely to convince your own body of that trust. Jensen has tried to stay relaxed, but his legs have tensed up nonetheless, and now, despite the muscle relaxant, they feel like two wooden sticks on fire. Jensen tries to slow down his breathing, but he can’t. Images of himself, drowning helplessly, in just a few inches of water, burst out behind his eyes as rapid as the explosion of a firework. He only realizes he’s digging his nails into the meat of Jared’s arms that are wrapped around his waist when he hears the other man hiss.

“Gosh I’m sorry, f-fuck,” he mumbles, his voice high-pitched and shaking.

“Hey woah, woah,” Jared murmurs in his ear, a long strand of hair brushing against Jensen’s cheek. “I got you; you’re safe; it’s okay.”

Jensen nods hysterically. He hates when fear takes its hold on him and doesn’t let go, when it swells disproportionately, growing into that paralyzing, agonizing feeling. Hates that just a thought can do this to him.

Somehow, though, Jared’s voice gets through. He’s telling him to slow down his breathing, to follow his rhythm, asks him to concentrate on the water jets spraying from under the water, on the vibrating sensations when they hit his skin. Does it hurt? Does Jensen hurt too badly to keep going? 

Jensen takes another long, slow, Jared-sized breath and comes to the realization that no, he doesn’t hurt anymore –there is the distant, always there, tick-tock pulse in his left leg, nothing he can’t handle. Relaxing completely, he can feel both his legs trying to float, and the regular happenstance of the water jets creating some kind of buzz, pushing what’s left of the pain far away, in the back of his mind.

Turning his head to look up at Jared, Jensen tries for a smile. It’s easy, now that the panic is slowly receding. He apologizes.

“Panic attack, I’m sorry.”

Jared shakes his head. “Hey, no, don’t be. Are you sure you don’t want to get out? Is the pain manageable?”

“Yes. You were right. My legs, they feel kind of numb, separated from my body. I guess it’s the vibration and the heat. Fucking incredible.”

“Okay well, let’s just enjoy it for a little while, shall we?” Jared asks in a pleased tone, all dimples out.

Jensen agrees. He lay his head back against Jared’s chest and feels the other man’s chin find its place resting on the top of his head. He rubs small circles with both of his hands, softly, on Jensen’s stomach. Jensen groans.

“Like it?” Jared asks.

“Yeah.” Jensen sighs, closing his eyes.

Jared keeps on going, moving his hands from Jensen's stomach to his chest, shifting to caress Jensen’s arm then going back, starting from his hips and repeating their ascension. It feels so intimate that Jensen is getting hard, all wrapped up in Jared’s embrace, feeling the other man’s groin pressed against the small of his back. Jensen’s dick swells up very slowly, trying to pierce the water rising up to his stomach, and each time air brushes against the sensitive skin, it’s like a third hand taking care of him. Instead of feeling impatient and burning all over, wanting and needy, Jensen has the sensation of a huge, calming wave washing over him. He hums low in his throat, letting himself just feel, letting time dissolve until its passing doesn’t mean anything anymore. 

“Comfortable?” Jared asks, breaking the spell.

Jensen holds back the protesting groan that's swelling in his throat and shifts a little. His movement makes something move against the small of his back, and it takes him a ridiculous number of seconds to realize it’s Jared’s cock, and that it’s hard, pushing against his skin. Comfort and relief invade Jensen’s body, his mind. Jared desires him –in a way, or maybe, maybe the desire is more of a physical, normal reaction to the anticipation of sex –it’s not important. Last time, what had gotten Jensen off so strongly had been the feeling of sharing the experience, of being in the moment with Jared as much being invested in it himself –something Jensen hadn’t even imagined as a possible scenario. Didn’t fit at all with the “sexual therapy” definition he had been imagining.

“I want…” Jensen starts. Then hesitates. He wants… everything. He wants Jared’s big hand wrapped around his dick, the other playing with his balls, or better, caressing his hole, maybe pushing in a finger or two… He wants… to feel normal, to get off, to share intimacy with someone. He wants everything he’s been denied for the past six months.

He wants to walk. To get rid of the pain. Most of all, getting rid of the pain is what he wants.

“I need to say something before anything happens between us,” Jared cuts Jensen’s epiphany short, and good, because he was too far gone. 

Just try to enjoy. Enjoy the moment, he tells himself.

“What is it?” He asks, when Jared doesn’t just keep talking.

“First thing, told you that you were my first patient as a sexual therapist, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, two days later I got assigned another client.”

Jensen tries very hard not to be annoyed at Jared’s apparent determination to kill the mood by talking business, and sex with other people than Jensen. He bites his bottom lip and waits.

“And I said no,” Jared adds in a dramatic fashion that Jensen doesn’t quite get. “I said I couldn’t do it, and that I preferred not to be asked again.”

“Why?” Jensen is genuinely curious now.

“’Cause what we did the other day, it wasn’t sexual therapy –well, it’s not how it’s supposed to go, in my head anyway. As soon as I saw you, I kind of forgot that what I was doing was work. Didn’t follow any procedure, the rules. I was everything but professional with you. Because it was… What was it? Having a good time? Hooking up? It wasn’t work, of that I’m sure. I had to write a freaking report afterward with all the details and I couldn’t do that, either, felt like I was betraying you, betraying what we had.”

Jensen’s giggles surprises him. It’s not that funny. It’s just… well, it does a lot of good to whatever’s left of his ego. 

“Sorry,” he says, then clears his throat. “I’m listening.”

“It’s okay it’s just… that whole situation is weird,” Jared admits, his voice distinctly more relaxed. “And, huh… yeah… I’m… What I proposed to you tonight isn’t to make money on your back, it’s because I couldn’t help myself. It goes against a fuckton of ethical rules, both as a physical therapist and a simple employee, and it’s very, very unprofessional.”

“Okay,” Jensen agrees.

“And I would definitely be fired if it would become known.”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t really care, fuck man, you… You… I have… it was, last time it was… and…”

Jensen doesn’t know if he needs to nod or shake, or where is Jared going with this, and if he’s ever going to shut up. What he knows is that they are both adults; that Jared wants him, and that Jensen would like to get off, before the water gets cold. And then he thinks what the hell and wraps his right hand around his dick, squeezing, not too hard, just like he always does. His poor neglected shaft expels a few drops of precome purely from relief. Jensen groans. The noise resonates in the bathroom. It sounds almost savage.

Jensen just needs to touch himself a little, before he starts crying from frustration. He moves his fingers along his cock, plays with the head a little, then pushes his hips back, not too hard, just to feel Jared’s erection digging in the small of his back. He speaks at the same time. Always been good at multitasking. 

“Sorry, I can’t wait anymore, Jared I…”

Jensen’s other hand has found its familiar place between his legs, pushing his balls up against his dick while he caresses his taint with his thumb. 

“Fuck… Fuck it feels good,” he moans. “It’s… Jared I know what you’re saying is… huh… oh, yes, so… What you’re saying is important, but you’re right there, and if you want me everything is… “

Jared swallows loudly. Jensen feels the muscles of the other man tense as he shifts a little. Just that feeling, and hearing Jared’s breathing rhythm pick up makes Jensen’s cock jump in his hand. He might let out a raspy cry. Maybe. What was he saying? Oh, yes, that’s right…

“If you want me, and I want you, there is no problem, right?” 

Jared stays silent, but the tiny jerks of his hips building into a rhythm is enough of an answer. Good. Finally.

“So please, please get me off, I want you to wrap your giant hand around my dick and jerk it hard and fast, and… and… I want… I want you to play with my hole, need you to, and I want to feel you come just by rubbing yourself on my back. Please. We’ll talk ethics later I promise.”

“Jesus.” Jared declares in an almost reverential tone. 

Jensen wonders what has gotten into him, in the tiny part left of his brain that doesn’t scream sex, and orgasm, and now, he’s never been into dirty talk, couldn’t do it without feeling ridiculous and ashamed, couldn’t hear it without embarrassment taking over his sexual arousal. 

If he remembers well, last time with Jared, he had already been more talkative during sex. He had put it down to nervousness. He’s not so sure anymore.

What the hell. Might be the meds. Might be the concussion. It did mess with his brain. He imagines writing a letter to Cosmo, something with a title like: I’ve become a phone sex operator after being run over by a car. He laughs, but then, fucking finally, Jared’s perfect hand pushes his own out of the way and takes its place on his desperate, hard, too hot dick. Jensen’s giggles die in his throat, because he needs to moan, apparently, and to repeat yes over and over again, letting out sounds between the words he had no idea he was capable of making.

Jensen breaths too fast. His vision blurs. When Jared pushes the tip of a finger against his twitching hole, it’s almost too much. Jensen gets his now unoccupied hands out of the water to play with his nipples. Last time with Jared, pinching and rubbing the little nubs had been like a revelation, like he had forgotten how much he had liked to be touched there. Always been so sensitive. Most of his past lovers had been so into it, playing and sucking and pinching them, trying to get Jensen to come without touching his dick. And it had happened, a couple of times.

Jensen’s “yeses” are replaced by a series of high-pitched “oh’s” he doesn’t want to hold back.

“Come on, Jensen, come on, know you’re close, I got you… That’s it, don’t hold anything back, look at you, that’s my boy, so fucking beautiful, so close, right?”

Jared’s praise gets straight to Jensen’s dick, and he can’t quite understand why but, hey, it’s never too late to discover new kinks. 

Jensen can’t allow himself to think about it too much anyway, because his orgasm is building, and it’s like a storm hovering in the wind, announcing itself violently, rumbling, letting Jensen know all he can do now is go with it.

Jensen tilts his head back, his mouth locked opened, and he’s not sure he’s breathing anymore when Jared’s finger breaks the muscle resistance of his hole and rubs his insides. The feeling is so intense Jensen’s own fingers tighten their grip on his nipples. It’s coming, finally, it’s… Just, yeah… that’s it… Jared twists his wrist on the upstroke of his blurring motion around Jensen’s dick, and he’s done.

He doesn’t cry, can’t, too busy coming, each pulse of come getting his hips to jerk violently upward. Jensen thinks, for a fraction of a second that could as well be a couple of eternities, that he won’t stop, that he’ll keep coming until his body gives up, trapped in a violent, feverish pleasure too great to contain.

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s okay, I got you, breathe, baby, let it out, let everything out.”

Jensen feels it, when Jared comes, a short but strong burst of liquid under the water, against his skin. It’s like a signal for his body to unlock, getting through the aftershocks by shaking, tensing and relaxing and then again, and again. There might be pain, there must be pain, Jensen doesn’t know, or care. He’s catching his breath, repeating Jared’s name again and again while the other man hugs him tight against him and answers Jensen with a litany of pet names and reverential obscenities.

Jensen’s heartbeat is starting to slow down -at this point, Jensen hasn’t even thought about how hard and fast it's been beating, but to have it calm down while his lungs aren’t burning from too much oxygen anymore is like having an orgasm in reverse. The tempest is fading slowly to give way to a perfect silence, deaf, and blind and calm. It does feel like dying, like La Petite Mort as the French say. Jensen, though, who did experience death’s encounter up way too close and personal, knows it’s nothing like it. 

And he’s falling asleep, now, he knows. Jared rocks him in his arms, hasn’t stop praising him. Jensen doesn’t fight and abandons himself willingly. He doesn’t quite get to the point where he’s into it deep. Feels like floating. Floating. Ah. Literally, figuratively.

Jensen’s legs don’t hurt. At all. 

The end


End file.
